


What We Do is Secret

by ScarlettSiren



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Conventions, M/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:17:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettSiren/pseuds/ScarlettSiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're pretty sure you've never been so lucky in your life, getting to work with your two favorite actors from your absolute favorite TV show. You've also never shipped Cockles. You tried so hard not to ship Cockles. But sometimes, relationships really do ship themselves...and take you along for the ride without so much as a warning. (Reader-insert; you are the narrator)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Do is Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I've hit a snag with my series work so I wrote this one-shot just to get the words flowing again. I actually hate writing in first or second person, but it just...worked for this fic. You can pretend to be the narrator, which I think works well for this particular story. I work for a few conventions but I've sadly never gotten to work with anyone as awesome as Jensen and Misha! (Also no beta so mistakes are my own!)

Your boss is going to kill you.

 Well, probably not kill you. He values his business far too much to go to jail for homicide, but he’s definitely going to stick you back at the ticket booth selling passes, staring at long lines of sweaty people and hyperactive fan-girls, counting change for eight hours.

 Honestly it’d be a lot nicer if the man just killed you.

 Apparently the clock in the lobby is fast, so you’ve got a little time to redeem yourself. You were lucky enough to land this assignment, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to screw it up on the first day.

 It was at your suggestion that the convention even look into having guests from Supernatural at the show. You’ve been working with them for a few shows now; hosting panels, running the costume contests, selling tickets…you go where you’re needed. At the last show, you had to be a last minute stand-in for the guest of honor’s handler, and you did such a good job with it that you were the first person they asked when assigning celebrity handlers.

 You had no idea you’d end up working with Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins.

 You’re a fan, yes…a _big_ fan, but you’ve always been great at playing it cool around people you admire, so no matter how many times you’ve reblogged that gif of the Jensen-porn lookalike jerking off where some graphics wizard had Photoshopped on the anti-possession tattoo for extra realism, you still have the uncanny ability to smile, look the actor in the eyes, and ask, “Would you like a bottled water, Mr. Ackles?”

 And they insist you call them by their first names after that, because these guys are so laid back it’s almost painful, and you watch them meet fans for hours on end. You internally laugh at how desperately the other staff members are trying to tell the funniest joke or the coolest story in the hope of becoming memorable to these two famous men. You see all kinds come to meet them: from the squealing fan-girls, to the ones so nervous they can’t say two words and shake like a leaf the whole time (you try to help as much as you can, but you’re torn, because they’re here to meet the talent, not you). All throughout the boys laugh and joke and smile, and it’s clear to you that these men are the best of friends, thick as thieves…but the sexual tension is _palpable_ when Jensen moves just a little too close, or Misha puts a hand on him, and you watch with a secret smile because it’s one thing to see it on stage, but it’s completely another to watch it from two feet away for six hours straight.

But you’re in a quandary now, of course, because you had them wrap up their signings to give them a half-hour break before their panel, and now they’re nowhere to be found. You figure the first place they’d be is their hotel rooms, so you head upstairs and knock on Misha’s door, only to not get an answer. You try Jensen’s, which is right next door, only to have Cliff answer and tell you they went out to lunch and asked him to wait by their rooms, which you notice are joined by one of those sets of doors meant for expanding space for parties staying together, and that door is suspiciously open, revealing Misha’s very empty room next door. You’re too panicked to even bother thinking on that as you head back downstairs.

 Cliff said they’d gone to get lunch, but that’s absolute _bullshit_ because you brought them their lunch order _yourself, personally_ to the green room only two hours ago. They’d eaten and gone right back to signings. A realization hit you, and you run past the lobby, weaving through the halls to get to the convention green-room. It’s just a conference room off in one of the random hallways, but it’s so out of the way that no one comes across it by accident, so staff uses it for lunch-breaks, prepping celebs and storage. Your hand is almost on the knob when you hear a distinct, “ _Fuck, Mish-_ ” and you freeze, palm hovering over the handle.

 Oh.

  _Oh_.

 You lean closer until your ear is almost against the wood, and there is _no_ mistaking the noises that you’re hearing coming from inside. It sounds wet and messy and that’s _definitely_ Misha groaning all muffled like his mouth is full and oh God you did _not_ sign up for this.

 “Mm…so fucking good, Mish, _Jesus_ …” It’s Jensen again, a hiss of a whisper, but in this particularly silent and abandoned hall, you hear every word, every hitching of breath, every slurp of Misha’s tongue, and you don’t even need to see what’s going on because you _know_ , you’re pretty sure this is straight out of fanfiction because it’s so farfetched.

 There’s an obscenely loud, wet smack of lips, and Misha’s voice is rough, rougher even than how he’d sounded when you picked them up from the airport this morning and handed him his first cup of coffee of the day. “You know, Jensen…we don’t exactly have all day. You gonna come anytime soon?”

 His chastising tone is enough to make you have to stifle a laugh, but Jensen doesn’t seem to find it too amusing.

 “Not my fault…maybe _you_ don’t have a problem getting off in public, but you know this back-alley, shove-me-in-a-closet crap makes me nervou—oooh, shit…just like that, Mish, _fuck_ …” He’s trailing off into nothing but grunts and whimpers that are beyond pornographic, and you’re sure you have to be beet red by now, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

 Thankfully you’re not stuck there for very long, because whatever Misha’s doing has got Jensen unraveling behind the door, and within a few minutes, you distinctly hear a string of curses and needy whines before it all just stops, save for Jensen’s heaving breaths. There’s another smack then a small thud, and from the groans, it’s pretty obvious they’re making out now, Misha shoving Jensen against the wall or table or something solid.

 Another few, long seconds and they are pulling apart, catching their breath, and Jensen speaks in a hushed tone. “Jesus, Mish…you give the best head.”

 “Don’t let Danneel here you say that.” Misha quips back lightheartedly.

 Jensen chuckles softly. “Dude, _Danneel_ thinks you give the best head, too. She can always tell when you’ve had your way; she says I get this look on my face.”

 Misha snorts at that. “Really? Vicki says the same thing about me after you’ve had _your_ way with me all night. Only for me it’s ‘the way I walk’ _and_ the face…”

 They talk for a little while more in low voices, and can’t help but eavesdrop despite your best intentions. You know it’s none of your business, but you find yourself comforted to know that at least this isn’t infidelity…open relationships may be baffling to someone with jealous tendencies, but you can’t help but feel their setup can’t be all that bad. You hear a zipper, a sigh, then Jensen mentions the panel. And that’s when you decide to knock.

 “Come in.” Misha says, and when you open the door, you let yourself appear frazzled, like you’ve been running around looking for them (and not just eavesdropping on some very hot activities). Jensen is on the other side of the conference table pouring himself some water while Misha just looks bored, leaning on one of the chairs closest to the door. Well, they _are_ actors. “Ah, if it isn’t our trusty handler.”

 “Uh, yes, hi, sorry…your, ah, panel…it’s in about five minutes, I’m supposed to escort you.” You stammer out, the first time you’ve sounded remotely nervous all day. You hope they associate it with the thought of having lost the talent, not having just heard them fucking through the door.

 Jensen takes a long drink before sighing in relief. “Yeah, no, sounds good. Lead the way.”

 “We’re to arrive at a panel _on time_? Ludacris.” Misha teases, and you can’t help but laugh, leading them both out the door and down the hall.

 When you get to the panel room, Cliff is waiting by the door, and offers you a wink. Once the boys are on stage, the crowd goes wild, and you feel a small sense of accomplishment as you settle into your chair next to the monitors. It’s a packed house, but the boys handle it perfectly, Cliff keeping everyone in check. As you watch them interact with the fans and each other, every touch, every laugh, every innuendo and every joke…you can’t help but feel like it really is a big family, this fandom that you’ve become a member of. You’ve never been so proud to be a part of it…

 …Even if you know not a single person alive will believe your story.


End file.
